Binks: Legacy
by scarjarbinks
Summary: After the fall of the Empire, our favorite Gungan finds away to redeem his actions by becoming a pacifist bounty hunter.


BINKS: LEGACY  
ch. 1

A busy day within a central shipping port on a Corellian dock was interrupted by the sounds of shouting. The typical schedule of incoming freight ships did not cease, however. One ship in particular secretly housed a figure with shadows over his face and a death stick between his lips. He was nearly late for a meeting with his associate, the prestiged Raat Badi - a known black market trader with more enemies than he can count.

Aboard the ship, he was met with hesitation and scrutiny over his race. "One of your kind, so far from your homeworld?" He had heard a loadmaster spit. The hooded creature was silent, and relied on his stare to persuade the man to step aside. Years of hardship reflected in the individual's beady eyes. He had learned troubling things throughout his life, conspiracies and information that no holodisk contained.

"The silent type, ah?" The loadmaster rubbed saliva from his lips. The man wore a DL-44 blaster pistol on his hip. His hand moved to the butt of his weapon. "Now, you ain't security, are ya?" Slowly, the man plucked the death stick from the creature's mouth and flicked it aside. "Dunno who in their right mind would hire a Gu-"

With deft movements, the cloaked individual threw his left hand to man's throat. An amalgam of blood and spit sprayed from out of his throat. The creature strafed to the right and turned his body to deliver another blow with the palm of his right hand. The loadmaster was tossed to the ground with the force of the strike.

Consciousness eventually eluded the writhing body and the cloaked figure stepped over him to continue moving through the ship. The hallway was tight, with several uninteresting doors to either side. The figure's destination was the cargo bay just an elevator away. In moments, a bold chime sounded.

The doors parted to reveal a handful of shipmates hurrying through the floor. His arrival did not disrupt the autonomy. Men and women were preparing for the ship to dock by tallying contents of the cargo hold via hand tablets. A female voice called out to the hold, "Touch in thirty!"

Another death stick had found its way between the creature's lips. It hung, unlit, as the female loadmaster counted down. "Ten, nine, eight," she drolled on as the ship settled into it's LZ. "Three, two - hold on!"

A large gust of wind rushed into the hold as the bay door dropped open. The scent of Corellia hit the hooded creature with an accompanied heat. The pungent odor of fuel and the salt of a nearby body of water was a welcome change from the sterility of the ship he had snuck aboard hours before. Sunlight blanched the inside and eventually bathed over him as he peeled away from the far wall and made his way to the dock.

The room turned all eyes to him. They allowed the hooded figure to leave through the cargo bay. His feet touched the dock and he inhaled a deep breath of Corellia's air. There was a faint taste of metal and smog.

Smoke from the freshly lit death stick filled his mouth and he savored the taste of chemicals and veritable poisons before exhaling. His contact should've been nearby, but the designated meeting point was empty. He was told meet the man behind the central hold of empty shipping containers. The creature entered this agreement hesitant already, but now had become alert with suspicion.

Soon, his suspicion was affirmed by the sound of distant gunfire. Under his cloak was a sleek and heavily modified DL-18 blaster pistol. Now more than ever, he felt the weight of his weapon hanging off the side of his belt and within a thin bantha-hide holster. Voices came closer, and footsteps accompanied them.

The cloaked individual accessed his surroundings. A maintenance ladder seemed to lead to a spiderweb of rafters that overlooked the docks. He checked for onlookers before moving to access the ladder. With a powerful jump, he was able to bypass a cage that locked the first six feet of wrungs.

He kept low to the rafters, his left hand tracing along the wall to keep his distance in check. The creature's eyes watched intently below while his expert hearing helped construct a mental estimated time of the mysterious figures' arrival. His flat feet patted gently against the cold metal, and was careful not to make a sound.

More blaster fire. A shot ricocheted from the ground and skidded along for several feet before dissipating. The cloaked man revealed his DL-18 and watched the two men come into view. One was his contact, Raat Badi, and the other was unfamiliar. Raat, a short Bothan man, glued himself to the area and used storage containers as cover from the incoming fire.

Raat stuck to the area, perhaps awaiting his contact's arrival. That was the one advantage he had over his attacker - as the assailant carried a slow firing heavy blaster pistol. One shot would seriously wound or kill Raat, while he carried a DT-12, for what the creature could make out from the rafters. In comparison, the Bothan could hit the man several times and he could still walk away unphased.

The attacker was heavily armored, and the markings on the armor were familiar. If only he could see his face, but the man's back was turned to him as he rounded a corner and fired off two, slow shots towards Raat. With a quick retaliation, Raat ducked and fired four rapid shots before his blaster began to overheat. The first shot his the attacker's torso, and being absorbed by his armor, did not do damage.

The second and third shots missed, barely, and the fourth clipped the man's right hand and disarmed him. Raat composed himself and extended his weapon, even approaching closer to get a clear shot. A blunt chirp and a green light flashed, illuminating the storage units on either side of them.

Raat stood over his attacker and examined him. Several yards away, a tall figure dropped to the ground and the trader raised his weapon instinctively. The cloaked figure dropped his hood and Raat eased.

"Hidoe dalee," the creature exhaled nasally. "Sorry mesa late, Badi."

The trader rubbed his chin and allowed the adrenaline to subside from his body. "Well, you're useless now."

"How do yousa mean, Badi?" The Gungan crossed his arms and waited for a response. He now had a chance to examine the attacker's face, but Raat quickly snapped to draw his attention.

"This was the target!" The trader stepped beside the body and exited between the storage units. He checked either side for eavesdroppers while still clenching his weapon in his fist. The Gungan leaned to the right and examined the blaster, which had a small modification on the muzzle. A disc shaped cap, associated with non-lethal sonic weapons, was a fresh addition to the DT-12.

Raat spun around on his heels, careful to keep the weapon hidden from the Gungan. "But, maybe, I could hire you for something else. Higher risk, higher reward, if you are up to the challenge?"

The trader's tone was unconvincing, as if he spoke a rehearsed speech. "Mesa have a question for yousa," the Gungan's limbs remained rigid and his demeanor calm. His blaster remained at the ready, but pointed to the ground. "A question about disa new job."

Raat Badi nodded. "Of course." The trader could see the shifting, defeated figure behind the Gungan begin to move to his feet. He was slow and quiet. Raat was careful not to toss a glance his way. "Anything."

"Am mesa da target disa time?" The Gungan allowed the man a moment to register his question. Raat moved his blaster upwards and pulled the trigger. A green blast traveled from the muzzle, but the Gungan sidestepped. The attacker was struck in the torso, and was temporarily knocked down by the impact.

In this time, the Gungan raised his own weapon, just barely, and shot only once. Raat collapsed to the ground as his left shin deteriorated under him. The Gungan moved behind the fell Raat and aimed his weapon to the attacker. From this angle, he could see either of them.

"Mesa can't spake mesa know yousa. Why are yousa try to kill mesa?" The Gungan took in the attacker's body language. He slowly got to his feet, but kept low enough to make a dive for his weapon. "Mesa knew someth was fishy. Dalee's nosa way yousa can miss every shot, and nosa entry points."

"I was hired," the attacker started slowly. His voice was as rough as his features. Battle scars, the freshest being a slight burn mark between his eyes from Raat's disrupted blaster. "I don't care if you live or die."

"Dat's not true. Yousa a bounty hunter. Yousa live for da mula."

"I haven't been paid yet. I can leave now and - and tell him you didn't come."

"Tell who?" The Gungan straightened his wrist. "Tell who mesa didn't comin?" From below him, just a foot away, Raat desperately reached for his blaster. The Gungan's beady eyes were trained on the unnamed attacker as his large webbed foot raised and dropped on the man's outstretched hand.

The scarred man mulled over his options. "If I tell you, you have to let me go." After a moment of deliberation, the Gungan agreed with a nod. "He's - he's -"

A voice rumbled behind the group. "He's here."

The Gungan tensed. "Oh, boie." A smirk rippled on the attacker's face before he began cackling. The new voice began through his own laughter.

"You might want to drop the blaster, Scar Jar." The unknown figure cast a shadow over the Gungan and bled over the collapsed Raat. "I don't want it accidentally going off when it hits the ground."

The attacker officially rose to his feet. "I've got this." He moved to Scar Jar with newfound confidence, even as the blaster was still relatively oriented to him. The bounty hunter silently acquiesced the Gungan's weapon and pointed it to him. This seemed to agitate the voice.

"What are you doing?" The new figure's voice wilted. "This is my bounty."

"Scar Jar's blaster will rip a hole through both of you. I know your weapon. You'd be lucky if yours exits through the other side."

The Gungan had a blaster pointed at either side of his skull. His eyestalks took in what little cover he had. He was trapped from all four sides. The bounty hunter had his weapon and prevented from escaping to the front, while the new figure, similarly, could easily fire without him knowing. To his left and right, storage units created a claustrophobic hallway.

"So, shoot," the new voice demanded. Scar Jar felt a shock in his chest. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nosa, nosa, don't shoot."

"Be quiet, Gungan!" The bounty hunter facing him shouted. He adjusted his grip on the pistol and his finger moved to the trigger. Scar Jar's first advantage was from the inability of either attacker being able to see one another. His second was the fact his weapon was ID locked with an illegal modification.

This fact did not register with the bounty hunter as he rapidly attempted to jam the trigger. The voice became suspicious by the silence. "What? What are you doing?"

With a powerful push, the Gungan used his tremendous leg strength to launch himself directly upwards without crouching. His wide feet knocked the blaster from the bounty hunter's grip, and a quick triplet of shots crumpled the scarred man to the ground in a mess of bloody mist.

Scar Jar curved his back and landed behind the new figure. The hulking body of a Trandoshan attempted to spin to face the Gungan. The reptilian took a step back, and delegated the distance by raising his weapon higher. During this time, the Gungan bounty hunter had already begun closing in on his attacker.

A swift kick to the Trandoshan's right shin snapped the bone while both of his hands raised to grab the blaster, an unmodified DL-18 - similar to his. Scar Jar's attacker attempted to fire off a few rounds, but they soared past his head and struck the surface of various buildings and machinery instead. "Isa a grave mistake to leave an open for a Gungan," he stated through a strident belt.

The two remained in a struggle for a few moments longer as Scar Jar slowly began to wear the Trandoshan to the ground. "Why do yousa want mesa dead?"  
A low series of growls burped from the attacker's throat. "You - killed my - my brother!"

"Uh, mesa don't see how dat's possible," the Gungan dwelled on this. "But, yeah, sure. Gos on." The Trandoshan attempted to stagger Scar Jar by throwing his elbow, but the strike barely did any damage. He had retaliated by throwing his knee into the stomach of the attacker. "Gos on, mesa say."

"You failed the Republic! You - caused civil wars on nearly every planet!" The injured bounty hunter spat blood at him. Scar Jar let him continue. "The Imperial regime - xenophobic, disgusting. Wasskah was used as a tourist attraction. My brother -"

"If yous brother had anyth to do with Wasskah, then hesa deserved to die." Scar Jar had cut him off and his tone became sinister. The Trandoshan had done an excellent job hiding his pain, but now his expression faltered to irritation.

"You say as you hunt others for credits."

"Mesa nosa killed _anybody_ ," Scar Jar used his impressive strength to sweep the bounty hunter's legs from under him. A pained shout came from the bounty hunter as he landed on his broken shin. "Dha day mesa kill another liv creature is dha day mesa retire mesa career."

"Then what will you do with me?"

"Mesa could break every limb and leave yousa to whoever finds yousa."

"I would die, surely," the Trandoshan growled. "Then you would have murdered me."

"Nosa," Scar Jar shook his head. "Not yousa, not a Trandoshan." The Gungan was nearly on top of his attacker. The two were caught in a grapple as Scar Jar's grip on the bounty hunter became tighter. Consciousness began to elude the reptilian and his eyelids eventually closed.

The tension in the Trandoshan's body was replaced with a calm, and Scar Jar was careful not to damage the body any more than he had. He slowly erected himself, apprehensive to any tricks the bounty hunter may have up his sleeve, and tried to retrieve his blaster before recognizing Raat's body was missing.

Scar Jar recalled the damage inflicted on the Bothan - a blast to the leg and a crushed wrist. He ascertained the pain would be too great to be able to slip away unnoticed. "Do yousa think mesa stupid?" The Gungan called out loud. He reached for his weapon, but an invisible hand grabbed the blaster from him and almost immediately it evaporated.

"Not stupid," the missing Bothan's voice replied. "Just blind!"

The Gungan no longer had the high ground. Even if Raat was injured, his position was hidden from him. Scar Jar scanned the ground for another weapon, but could not find one. What sounded like his blaster rang between the maze of storage units, but knew it could not have been his.

He felt a heat rapidly building in his chest. The unmodified DL-18, previously owned by the Trandoshan, had been fired and struck the Gungan square in the torso. "Oh," Scar Jar hissed through his wide, cracked lips. "Owie." He fell to his back as darkness began to overtake him. "Dumb-dumb... Bothan technology..."

Raat appeared before Scar Jar just as his vision turned dark. The trader moved to the unnamed Trandoshan bounty hunter and helped him up. The butt of his blaster hung from a sling he had wrapped around his back. He felt his body tighten, then relax in a single spasm that started from his spine and traveled through every limb.

 _So, disa death,_ Scar Jar Binks' internal voice reverberated throughout a pearlescent void. _It's not so bad._

Another voice chimed in after. It was familiar, but drenched in the thrumming of death's ambiance. "Do not give up, Jar Jar! Do not give up!"  
 _  
Ah?_ Scar Jar could barely make out a spotlight forming through the black clouds. _Little Ani?_ His consciousness catapulted towards the light that now grew into an overwhelming embrace.

Scar Jar awoke to the sound of heavy machines vibrating around him. His eyestalks fluttered open, and soon he was lucid once more. He remained on the port, perhaps left for dead. The other bodies were no longer here, even the humanoid attacker that was decimated by the Trandoshan's blaster.

He looked to his chest and parted the dark cloak that hid a worn chest-piece made of Mandalorian iron. Previously, it was not in great shape, having been inherited from one bounty hunter to another for years. A clean blaster hole fried away at the outside and penetrated his chest by a few inches. He had bled, but no longer.

"Disa what the desire for revenge feels like, mm?" His voice croaked as he struggled to his feet. He peeled the bloodstained robe from his body and let it drop to the ground. A breeze carried it almost a foot. "It feels exhilarating."


End file.
